The Complete Drive-In

8

With the exception of James, who decided to stay with the bus, we followed Bjoe and his band up one of the rolling ladders. I tried not to look up, as the fella in front of me didn’t have on any pants, and a nastier asshole you could not imagine, and when he stepped high his grapes swung wrinkled and ugly on their vine.

Behind me came the others, Reba, Cory, Homer, Steve, and Grace last in line.

It was a precarious trip, as the rungs of the ladder were damp from wet feet, and I had to hold on tight. I cautioned the others to do the same.

When we reached the summit, we stepped off the ladder and into a very large cut in the meat; a pulsating cave that went some distance back. The walls were wet with thin stains of blood from the fish, and you could see veins throbbing in the wall of the cave. One rib bone had been exposed and was visible. I could see skin over the rib and wondered just how thick that skin was, and how much it would take to pierce it, bringing in all that water; thought too about these folks, and what Bjoe had said, about how they sometimes thought about ending it.

I didn’t like my life, but as I had come to realize, it was the one I had. I wanted to play out its string as long as I could, and I preferred to not have anyone cut it short for me just because they had had enough and wanted to go.

There were skulls in the caves, or rather the tops of skulls. They were split from the eyes up, and had been turned over to be used as utensils.

“How’d you come by your tableware?” I asked.

“Folks that died,” Bjoe said. “We ate them. Waste not, want not. You have a problem with that?”

Actually, I didn’t. I didn’t like it, but in this world, you did what you could. It was okay by me. Cannibalism has its place.

If they had in fact died, and not been helped along.

I had a tense sensation that we might have just climbed a long ladder to unwillingly accept a dinner invitation.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Bjoe said. “And no. We’re not going to murder you.”

“I could have told you that,” Grace said, looking ready to fight.

“We may not look like much,” Bjoe said. “And I may play with my dick more than a rap musician, but we don’t mean you any harm. Long as you abide by the rules and get along and such.”

“That’s good to hear,” Steve said.

“What about that booze?” Cory said.

“We’ll come to that,” Bjoe said. “Please. Make yourself at home. Guys, play with your dicks if you want. We don’t discourage it. Ladies, you can plunk your pudding if you like. We don’t consider it vulgar here.”

And they sure didn’t. Three of the women had revealed themselves and were slapping their meat in a savage manner, grunting like pigs to trough.

“Maybe later,” Grace said.

“Suit yourself,” Bjoe said.

We sat down cross-legged, and I could feel the great fish’s flesh vibrating beneath me, taut as a harp string. The meat against my ass was warm, and I could imagine going to sleep quite comfortably in this cave.

The women who had chosen to explore their valleys were still at work, and even though only one of them was moderately attractive, I couldn’t help but watch. There was nothing really sexual about it for me. It was just interesting to see. Sort of like midget wrestling.

Bjoe went over to a row of skulls against the fleshy wall and picked one up. He brought it over, set it down in front of us, squatted to join us.

“So,” Cory said. “You just get some weed the fish ate, let it rot and such, and it’s ready to go.”

“We spit in it too.”

“Whoa, now,” Cory said. “I didn’t need to know that.”

“Saliva blends with it, makes it ripe.”

“I bet,” Steve said.

“You really should try some,” Bjoe said. “It’ll set you free.”

Cory leaned over and sniffed it. “It smells like a dead animal,” he said.

“Indeed,” Bjoe said.

“You just hold your nose?” Cory said.

“First sip, yeah. After that, probably won’t need to.”

“Oh, shit,” Cory said. “I’m a fool.”

He took hold of his nose with one hand, lifted the skull to his lips, and sipped.

Carefully, he put the skull back down, removed his hand from his nose.

“That. Without a doubt. Is the foulest motherfucking thing I have ever put in my mouth. And I got to tell you, I once ate a turd because it had some kind of nuts in it. I think it was shat out by a bear or something. But that right there. That is some nasty shit. But… it kind of grows on you.”

“What happened to your head?” Bjoe asked Cory. “Knife fight?”

“I shaved it. But not too well. I’ll have another jolt of that fish brew, if you don’t mind.”

“Help yourself. There are plenty of bowls of it. Would any of you like to try it?”

“I’ll pass,” Grace said. “I haven’t even had a bear turd yet, so I’ll hold out.”

Everyone else passed.

Cory grabbed two more skulls, drained them down. Then he burped, fell over backwards, unconscious.

Homer leaned over and looked at him.

I said, “He isn’t dead is he?”

“No, but his breath is really something,” Homer said. “And strong. It could hold up a tea set.”

“Would you like to hear how we came here?” Bjoe said. “And maybe I can clear up some things for you. About the fish, I mean. I know some of it, or rather I’ve noodled out a lot. Rest of it is guesswork. And some, shit, I don’t got a clue. Maybe you can fill in some holes.”

“Tell us,” I said.